


Of The Rain

by chardonnott



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Based on a song, Draco Malfoy In Love, F/M, Ministry of Magic (Harry Potter), Please Don't Hate Me, Unrequited Love, You might cry, draco is a bit dramatic, im sorry in advance, you might hate hermione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 23:02:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29865420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chardonnott/pseuds/chardonnott
Summary: He wanted to be back in their doorway for another fifteen minutes.He wanted to do it again.Be in the rain with her. Be the rain himself.Because for some reason, he realised he was jealous of the rain on her skin.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 41





	Of The Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a song.
> 
> Jealous by Labrinth.
> 
> Thanks to my besties for checking over this for me, then shouting at me for making them cry.

~*~

The first time he noticed was when he saw the rain on her skin.

They ran together. An accidental moment where they found themselves caught in the middle of a storm, unprepared, and so they had no other option but to run. 

They stormed their way through the crowds of muggle London, much like how the rain fell upon them. And as they pushed their way around the other frantic runners, he noticed other business women and men prepared with umbrellas, families covered in thick coats, people gathering under shelters at the side of the streets. So he cursed and muttered under his breath, filling with envy while their feet paced along the pavement.

Because they had caught themselves in the middle of this storm without similar ideas and he was angered. More so when the rain poured even heavier onto them, soaking into their clothes and drenching them through skin and bone. The fabrics, sticking to them. Their hair, dripping. It was uncomfortable and ugly.

Finally, they found a small, clear doorway at the side of them and they scrambled their way into it, up onto the single step. Compacted together, with not much space they realised they'd have to stand close. They both sighed heavily and shook themselves off of the rain clinging to their impractical, spring coats. He felt a strain in his jaw as he tensed from the cold wet on his skin and a shiver ran down his spine. He couldn't use his wand to dry himself off, he couldn't cast a warming charm over himself so he had to suffer. 

Then his anger rose when he looked down to her, as she stood flushed to himself. He didn't like being so close to her, the way their chests were pressed together as they cramped under the small shelter. He could smell her hair as she stood just below his chin, he could feel the warmth of her against him. He hated it. His anger grew further when he looked at her face and noticed a subtle smile on her lips, the slight curve in the corners of her mouth. She was almost laughing, giggling as if this was funny.

“What are you laughing at?” He scowled and asked, irritated.

“Nothing,” he noted her rolling her eyes and biting her bottom lip in a pathetic attempt to suppress her smile. She patted down her clothes with the palms of her hands and wiped away any remaining beads of water. But he'd already seen it and he hated it. The smile, the laugh. 

“Why didn’t you bring a _fucking_ umbrella, Granger?” he seethed. Trying to ignore her, he ran his fingers through his hair hoping to style it back to the way it was. But it proved useless.

“I didn't know it was going to rain, Malfoy.” She bit back and gazed up at him. Her smile disappeared, an angry tone appeared in its place. He was glad. She shouldn't have been happy or laughing at the fact they are drenched from head to toe. She was supposed to be angry, disappointed in herself for not bringing an umbrella, for putting themselves in this position.

It was her idea to meet the potential investor in a muggle cafe. It was her who decided which one to do it at, in the middle of the city, far away from the ministry. And he just had to follow, because like fucking usual, she got her way with everyone bending over backwards to suit whatever the Golden Girl wanted. So this was her fault, he put all the blame on her.

“You should’ve known.” He sucked in a deep breath and attempted to calm the painful chills running through him. He wanted to wrap his arms around himself, he needed to warm himself up but he refrained, knowing he couldn’t, not when lifting his arms meant touching her more.

“And how exactly would you expect me to do that?” she glared at him. “I can't predict the weather.” Her brows knitted together and it was his turn to smile.

“Ah yes, how could I forget how terrible you were in Divination class,” his smile turned to a taunting smirk, knowing he would get on every last one of her nerves with that comment alone.

Her mouth grew agape and she gasped, silently. Success. “I wasn’t terrible!” She stropped, like a child, like the teenage girl he saw in class arguing with Snape when he didn’t let her answer a question. “I thought the lesson was completely useless and ridiculous, not to mention absolute poppycock. People can't predict the future, it’s just not realistic,” she continued. But he wasn't listening, he didn’t care. However, he did see steam almost physically coming out of her ears and a growing red flush on her cheeks, he couldn't miss it.

“Or you just didn’t understand something and you don't want to admit it?” he replied coolly with a raised brow. Cockily and in full amusement, watching her frown.

“Oh, piss off, Malfoy.” She inhaled sharply and turned her face away from him to look out at the passing muggles instead. 

He almost laughed, relishing in what he’d done.

But that's when he noticed.

When he looked closer.

A single droplet running down her temple and making a slow path down to her cheek. He watched it, carefully. How it slithered down her cheekbone, dipping into the hollow of her. Then down to the edge of her jaw, before dripping off and falling to the floor. And in its place was a trace of light. A glimmer. It was blinding in the sunlight that was now peeking its way through the tempestuous clouds above. A conjured pattern on her skin, that danced and shined.

Because that single ray of sunshine had found its way directly to her.

It illuminated her and she glowed, golden.

Then he noticed how her eyes mirrored the heavens. From what he could see. Their dark, threatening clouds reciprocating the anger he had caused in her. But he spotted something else too. The same speckle of light, shining through like the one beaming on her, peeking all the same and he swears this is the first time he ever noticed this in her eyes. 

He was stuck.

But he snapped back to reality. Blinked and swallowed, realising he’d been staring at her for too long. So he swiftly averted his eyes away from her and to the muggles rushing around them in the rain, hoping she hadn't seen him looking. He swallowed again and once more ran his fingers through his wet hair. 

“The apparition point is over there,” he spoke, without emotion and kept his face straight, lifting a finger lazily to point in the direction they needed to go. 

“I know.” She didn't look at him. 

“We can wait here till the rain stops.” he pushed his tongue to the inside of his cheek. He felt his heart suddenly racing in his chest and he hoped she wouldn't be able to feel it. She was still right against him.

“Right,” was all she replied, bored, uninterested in what he had to say. He’d succeeded in angering her, winding her up like he normally did, but for some peculiar reason, he regretted it. Especially when he noticed the tone in her voice. She was done with him, they had spent too much time together for one day. And he didn't blame her for feeling like that.

They finally apparated back to the Ministry around fifteen minutes later, having stayed under the small doorway for what felt like hours while they watched the rain slowly come to a stop. To him, it was the longest fifteen minutes of his life. In a way to distract himself, he’d resulted in counting the number of umbrellas that walked past them while they waited, ignoring the growing heat and natural warmth he felt from her body. It didn’t work, he still felt her.

When they landed back —as the place was bustling with witches and wizards— without saying another word, just a frown and a nod of their heads, they separated and headed in different directions. Parting ways for the day, like they always did. 

Yet he couldn't stop himself from pausing in his steps. He couldn't stop his head from turning, from looking at the back of her as she strode away. He watched the way she cast a stream of hot air to dry herself off. The way her unruly curls fell back into their crazy, natural way, falling down her shoulders and back.

He blinked and swallowed.

She didn't look back at him, she didn't turn around, she didn't stop in her tracks. Instead, she kept walking and disappeared into an elevator before ascending.

That's when Draco Malfoy felt something for Hermione Granger he hadn't before.

There was a tightness in his stomach and an ache in his chest. It was a longing to see the ray of sun in her eyes again amongst the storm he'd made. To watch the gold reflect on her skin as the water fell from her hair, down her face and dripped onto their shoes again. To see her shake some of the droplets off her shoulders again as she giggled about being caught in the rain.

He wanted to be back in their doorway for another fifteen minutes.

He wanted to do it again.

Be in the rain with her. Be the rain himself.

Because for some reason, he realised he was jealous of the rain on her skin.

~*~

The second time he noticed was when the wind blew her hair over her face. 

They were outside again, but not together. She was sitting on the table next to him, within arms reach, but she wasn’t looking at him, didn’t even know he was there. He was almost invisible, much to his unknowing dismay. It was incomprehensible how much he wanted her to see him.

He sighed, heavily.

There was a raging summer breeze around them and birds singing in the air as they sat at a cafe on Diagon Alley, separately. Sunlight beaming down, a humid temperature and beautiful blue skies above. A perfect picture, much like her.

He noticed her curls being forced to cover her face in an untameable way. Wildly sticking to her lips. Tangling with her lashes. And along with it, her scent, that blew over to his face and up into his nose. He couldn’t avoid it. It was intoxicating. He felt drunk. To the point of wanting to throw up, to pass out from the chemicals of her perfume and shampoo. He wanted to be disgusted by it and hold his nose or turn away.

But he wasn’t— and he didn’t.

Instead, he couldn’t get enough, and he let it fill his nose and drift into his mind. He let himself become dizzy, clouded and tipsy on it. And he let himself be surrounded by the traces of her smell that flew with the wind without trying to avoid it. He just sat in his chair and absorbed it into his bloodstream, willingly and unwillingly, simultaneously. He feared he’d become an alcoholic from drinking too much of her in, but he couldn’t stop. He chugged and gulped and swallowed it all down, savouring the taste.

Then he noticed how she laughed. When she tried to untangle her hair, unbothered by the mess the wind was causing in her locks. Giggling to Weaselette, drinking coffee and chatting away the afternoon, loudly. The sounds that poured from her mouth being carried by the wind, straight to him, just like her scent. He tried not to listen. To ignore the way she snorted at a joke being said, almost spluttering her coffee over the table. He tried to block out when she talked too enthusiastically about the progress she’d made with the house-elves. How she’d succeeded in gaining more investors for the projects they were working on together. 

The bragging, the rambling. 

The music.

He couldn’t ignore her, as much as he wanted to, it was impossible. There were too many heavenly notes coming from her. That she sang so beautifully, whistling through the air with the wind and into his ears. And he regretfully wanted the song to play, for it to repeat again and again and never end. Because her laugh was cutting through him and echoing in his ears. Lapping endlessly over him, like waves of happiness and elation formed from the breeze, crashing towards him. He was being washed over and he wanted to hate it, he really did.

But he didn’t.

He loved it, he realised.

“Draco, are you listening to us?”

He tore his eyes away from the curls and back towards Theo and Pansy, sitting on the opposite side of the table, hand in hand. 

“Sorry, what?” he asked and forced a smile on his face, leaning back in his chair.

“We were just saying how it’d be good for you to find a girl.” Theo offered him a smile back, bringing his coffee cup to his lips. Pansy rested her head down on his shoulder as he did and they looked... content, at peace with each other. 

He felt a hit of sickness, watching them, so publicly displaying their affection.

He felt some comfort in seeing them like that, in love, finally.

He felt a tinge of green jealousy covering him, from within the depth of him.

“Right.” He rolled his eyes, done with hearing that from everyone around him.

His mother had said the same thing to him only the night before in their Manor, over dinner. She nattered and whined about how she’d love to have a beautiful daughter-in-law to take to afternoon tea. Someone to eventually bear her grandchildren and host galas together, but that was far from his mind at this point, the last thing he wanted. Especially when all he could think about was trying to, in some way, drown out the music that was still playing in his ears, next to him.

So he focused, to the best of his ability on the couple in front of him, instead. Kept his eyes on them while his thumb drummed on his thigh.

But the wind wasn’t helping, it made it difficult. Adding more waves to crash over him.

An angel's voice. Worship playing in the air.

“Did you know Daphne’s sister, Astoria, is single? I think you’d look good together.” Pansy carried on, smiling too.

It made him realise there were too many real smiles around him, actual joy and merriment— when he was faking it. He was tired. 

He watched as Theo’s fingers curled over Pansy’s shoulder. How he twisted a lock of her raven hair around his finger. He watched as Pansy giggled and placed a kiss on his cheek.

Sickening. Comforting. Jealous. 

“I’m not really looking for anyone right now, I’m focusing on work,” he stated, sternly. But he couldn’t stop himself from glancing at her. Out of the corner of his eyes with a veiled curiosity. She was smiling so brightly he understood the term Golden Girl more and more.

“Don’t let work consume you, you’re not getting any younger, mate.” Theo shrugged. “You don’t want to look back on your life and only see the Ministry.” He flashed a sympathetic and patronising smile before turning his eyes down to Pansy instead. They knew he wouldn’t want to talk about it for long, they would be right.

Another chorus erupted and suddenly, Draco felt out of place.

His loved up friends engaged in conversation without him, in front of him. The cafe; loud and busy around him, filled with endless talking. And all he could do was sit in silence, drink his coffee and watch the wind blow over the Golden Girl next to him. 

So he did watch. Couldn’t take his eyes away. He had nothing else better to do.

He noted how the breeze rippled over her robes, how it ran over her skin. How her curls bounced and flourished in time with the waves. So close to her, closer than anything had ever been. 

And while he sat there, a now empty coffee cup resting on the table in front of him, he realised he was jealous of the wind.

~*~

He saw them together.

A Friday night in mid-August.

Sitting in a restaurant that should’ve been out of his budget. There’s no way he could afford it, surely it was too expensive for him. And he stuck out, didn’t match the dress code, didn't look as smart as he should. But there they were and Draco watched as they ate their meals, drank their sparkling champagne from crystal flutes and smiled, at each other. And she was ceaselessly showing the Golden Girl in her, attracting all the eyes of everyone in her presence. Full of wonder and optimism that he wished would cancel out the pessimist in him.

He was also trying to cancel out his mother in front of him.

They were eating dinner together, celebrating a breakthrough in his job.

He assumed that’s what she was doing too, commemorating the achievement, hence the champagne. It was a big accomplishment for her, something she’d been fighting for-- for a long time. Just like a lion. And Draco was proud of her, he knew how much it meant to her. Because even though she still irritated him with her incessant need to work till the early hours of the morning, stuck in their office, he admired her work ethic.

He admired her. 

Maybe too much.

So he sat with his mother, in the far corner of the restaurant and watched her golden glow from afar, ignoring anything being said to him. His mother wasn’t holding his interest anyway. She was continuing with her argument on the need for potential daughters-in-law. She had even compiled a list of suitable ‘young ladies’ who would meet her standards. Who she felt she could mould to be his ‘perfect little wife’. It wasn’t a long list, but it was laid out on top of the white table cloth and it added pain to his evening. 

He surprised himself when he looked for _her_ name.

“I would really love to attend a wedding sometime, Draco. I know the best organiser that would happily give me a discount if I pulled out a favour. Oh and a dress designer that would be perfect.”

He smiled and nodded, drinking his wine.

She went on to how they’d just had new roses put into the gardens. Next to the fountains. Or lake. Or gazebo. He didn’t know, he wasn’t listening properly.

“Oh, my darling, they look beautiful. You should really come and see them one afternoon, we can have tea in the conservatory. I’m free next week if you are?”

He agreed, they organised for next Wednesday.

She talked about the peacocks.

“I think they’re getting old, Draco. They’re walking slower and their feathers aren't as straight as they used to be. I’m worried about them.”

He heard her sigh with sadness and he comforted her. 

All through their conversations, he kept nodding. He kept smiling. He agreed with everything she said and he faked his interest with great strength but he stopped when the restaurant erupted in a gleeful cheer and he took his eyes to _her_.

The ache in his chest grew to a stabbing pain. It shook him and his heart almost stopped. He felt lifeless, breathless, without real oxygen reaching his lungs. A sting behind his eyes he tried to ignore and the sound of a crack in his ears, echoing boisterously.

Because he looked across the room and saw Weasel on his knee, holding open a black suede box, and Draco could see the dreadful words leaving his lips.

Clapping wizards and witches filled the air with amazement and surrounded them. But he could still see through the small gaps between the figures. Her smile. The champagne colour in her eyes, shining all the same and more awful words leaving her lips too, as her head bobbed up and down, up and down. 

It was a shatter inside that nearly made him choke. That gave him the urge to clutch his chest.

He didn’t understand, he was bewildered.

And it hurt so much.

When he watched her kiss the idiotic ginger. When he saw the diamond slide up her finger. When the crowds of people around them sent choruses of congratulations. 

It hurt him, and he didn’t understand why.

The champagne started to make sense, it started to flow more freely into their glasses. The choice of location became all too clear. But his mind was clouded and confused. His emotions were unreadable and he couldn’t figure out why he was feeling this way. He wanted it to stop. He needed the pain to go away, he didn’t want to feel it.

But he was.

“Oh that’s lovely, isn’t it, dear?” His mother beamed across from him, also watching. “What a lovely wedding that’ll be. I can’t wait for the day you do the same, darling. I have a ring hidden in the manor I think would be perfect.” She continued and took a sip of her wine.

When it was finally time for them to leave, he helped her put on her coat, allowed her to hook her arm into his and he started to escort her out. She hugged herself close to him, thanked him for paying and said how they should really do it more often, that she misses her son. He was tired, he nodded and agreed once more.

But their path was obstructed by similar actions from the girl he was determined to avoid for the rest of his life. He had made that decision after he finished his second glass of wine. Figured that'd be a good option for him, unrealistic though. 

“Oh, Miss Granger. Congratulations on your engagement!” His mother elated and stopped in her tracks, also bringing him to a halt. 

“Thank you ever so much, Mrs Malfoy.” Granger smiled with shock on her face. 

“Please, dear, it’s Ms Black now but you can call me Narcissa.”

They conversed for a moment. He stayed silent. Only offering a single nod to Granger and Weasel. He ignored the trepidation inside him when the ginger put his arm over _her_ shoulder. Chose to look away when she placed a gentle kiss on his freckled cheek. Blocked them out when his mother asked to see the ring closer.

“Well, we really should get going, Narcissa, but it was lovely to see you.” Granger smiled brightly and Weasel directed her to the door. “Malfoy, I’ll see you at work on Monday.” She gave him a cordial look, without letting her meet his eyes.

“Draco, say congratulations to the happy couple.” His mother pressed, placing a hand on his chest with a scant push. He sighed. 

“Congratulations, I wish you all the best.” He swallowed, but the lump in his throat didn’t disappear. He shifted, he blinked and she actually smiled back at him.

Golden.

Pure.

And beautiful. 

_Fuck._

“Thanks, Malfoy.” Weasel grinned, disgustingly and nodded before they disappeared out the door into the darkness of night. He watched them walk away in the distance as his mother talked about how lovely _she_ was. He knew she was right, but to him, she was more than lovely.

She was beautiful, pure gold. 

And priceless. 

There were broken pieces of crimson red glass surrounding him as he left that restaurant. A trail behind him. Millions of fragments, scattered on the floor. Nothing would be able to put them back together, they were too small, too destroyed. But he had to try, he would one day.

He still didn't understand what it meant.

Maybe he did. But he chose to pretend. He didn’t know himself.

And when he wished them all the best, he didn't mean it. He spitefully wanted their lives to be filled with heartbreak and misery. Because he was starting to realise, more and more, step by step.

He was jealous of the way she was happy without him.

~*~

The third time he noticed was at night.

Two months had passed. But it felt like years. 

The days grew physically shorter and colder. The nights dragged on and he felt like he was falling into a miserable abyss, unsatisfied by anything other than work. But even work had been tainted. It had become a bit less bearable, hardly tolerable. Because wherever he went, there was that golden glow. An otherworldly colour that shouldn’t exist. Rare and precious. Full of life and bright.

It had become disgusting.

It was the only colour he could see. It was all that painted his surroundings. But it was also what he was missing from his life. Because that gold wasn't his. And with each day that passed, his nights grew longer and the gold failed to enter his darkness. 

He hated it. He loved it. He wanted to scream.

So when work said they were having an early Christmas party, he thought there was no way in hell he was going to attend. It was October, why would they have a fucking Christmas party in October? What kind of reasoning is, ‘ _things will be extremely busy throughout December_ ’? It wasn't viable, wasn't believable. He didn’t want to go, because he also knew she would be there. She was hosting it. She had organised it.

But then Theo said he and Pansy would be going, and that Blaise would be there too. That he should go because he worked in the Ministry, that it was almost an obligation. So he was forced. They threatened to use _incarcerous_ on him, said they’d silence his mouth if he tried to make any pathetic excuse. And it only became more appalling when he was made to be the fifth wheel too as Blaise brought a date and Theo and Pansy lived in their bubble of love.

They dragged him into the club. He protested but failed.

He went and hid in the back. They stayed in the light.

A muggle bar, in the centre of London. Which horribly meant he couldn't use magic to refill his glass as often as he wanted without leaving his corner. Meant he had to listen to muggle music playing through their speakers. Had to watch muggles dance and sing in the middle of the dance floor while his fellow wizards and witches disguised themselves amongst them.

But then he saw her, halfway through the night.

She was swaying her hips in sync with the rhythm. Ruffling her wild, curly hair and combing her fingers through it. Shuffling through the crowds around her and dancing with them. Her golden smile, grinning brightly like she was the sun herself, brighter than the lights of the muggle club they had all gone to. She looked so happy, so blissful in the night. His heart ached again. He wanted to clutch his chest again. 

He stopped looking at her.

He emptied his glass, knocking his head back with it.

He needed another one, desperately.

He stumbled to the bar and ordered himself another round of drinks and muggle tequila to top it off. He knew this was going to be the only way he’d survive the night, before going back to his empty apartment and sleeping till the day after the next. He just had to survive two more hours, then he could leave. Theo told him to stay still until midnight, with no arguing. He was too tired to argue. 

He gulped the first drink in one go and slammed it down on the counter. He picked up the next and threw it down his throat, before again slamming it on the bar, almost smashing it. The tequila burned him, the salt and lime he was told to take with him made it horrific and he wondered why people drank it. He preferred Firewhiskey, he preferred that burn. 

His eyes grew hazy, the room began to spin ever so slightly and he managed to form a lazy smile as he leaned his back on the bar. 

Then he saw a wild mane of hair appear next to him. To the right of him.

“Just a glass of water please.” She spoke, softly, musically. Better than the music playing around them, he much rather just listen to her talk. So he did listen and a gut-wrenching feeling overcame him but disappeared within an instant. He then felt confident, smug, cocky. Unusually so. 

“Granger can’t handle her alcohol,” he joked as his words slurred from his mouth.

“More like you can’t, Malfoy.” She gazed up at him and their eyes met but she wasn't staring into his. Not in the same way he was admiring the sparkle in hers. No— she was searching him, with a furrow of her brows. “How many have you had to drink?”

He scoffed. She was concerned. She had no right to be. 

“Not enough,” he smirked and jeered. She wasn't impressed. “I need more.” He bounced his brows in a somewhat flirtatious way, but she had no interest in him.

“I think you’re wrong again, let me get you some water.” She leant over the bar and he didn't have time to stop her when she ordered him a drink. He was speechless and mouth agape when she did what she said. The way she was looking after him. He didn't want her pity. But there was a hint of relief bubbling in him when he found himself with a pint of water in one hand and a shot of tequila he hadn't drunk yet in the other. Within his tight grip, reluctant to let go.

He felt like a prize idiot. How he must've looked to her, there was no way she could find him attractive. More so when he leaned to the left and wobbled in his place, almost spilling his water down her silk, black dress.

She looked good. It accentuated her figure. It wasn't like the normal, modest clothes she'd wear to work. He could see her curves, he was almost drooling. He swallowed and blinked and tried not to think about what she'd look like under that dress, on his bed, begging for him.

“I’ll take the tequila, Malfoy.” She reached up to grab it from him but he was quick and lifted it higher.

He tutted, wanting to tease. Not wanting her to leave him yet. “Only if you drink it, Miss Perfect.” 

“If I promise to drink it will you promise to stop drinking them yourself?” She stood up on her tiptoes and attempted to get it again but she was too small and he was too tall. Her chest pressed to his and he grew hotter. His cheeks flushing. 

What would she feel like, doing that, without clothes between them?

He stopped himself. 

He faltered, stammered and finally spoke, swallowing down the unnerved lump inside him. “Pinky promise.”

“Fine.” She sighed in defeat and he watched her take the glass and follow the steps with salt and lime before knocking it back. Her face cringed, her mouth soured tightly and he laughed, amazed and astounded by the woman in front of him. “That was revolting, how are you drinking them?” She gasped and took a big gulp of her water.

“With layers of muggle bourbon underneath.” He laughed some more but that's when he noticed. She laughed too, she giggled, at him, at something he said. 

He felt sober.

His heart stopped and the pieces he had managed to glue together in the last two months-- felt loose and fragile. As if they were about to fall apart again. But her smile, which was directed at him, almost made it worthwhile. And if it meant he could see her smile at him again, as it lit up the night, he’d let it happen over and over and over again for the rest of time.

For eternity.

Until his last dying breath.

But his eye caught the glimmer of her diamond ring and he remembered.

He went cold. He shut off.

“Well, thanks for the water, Granger.” His voice clipped and he looked away. Out into the crowd and she left. She didn't say anything else. She might have, but he ignored her if she did.

He tried to blink but with each shut of his eyes, it felt like he was falling into the floor and was being dragged down. He still couldn’t believe it.

For the rest of the night he drank from his pint glass of water and kept his eyes around the room at a higher level than most of the people. Looking at the tops of several peoples heads, refusing to drop to a collection of unruly curls. He didn't want to suffer more than he already was.

The clock struck midnight and he could finally set himself free. He chose not to say goodbye to the people that made him go, they were all having a good time, enjoying and living in the moment, he didn't want to ruin that. So he slipped out the door of the club and was about to set off walking to the nearest apparition point when he saw her again.

In the arms of him, who she loved. They were going home together, he’d come to collect her. The one who gave her the diamond. 

The diamond that was nowhere near the unearthly price he had on her.

Draco was pained. He tried to breathe as his knees buckled and his palm hit the side of a brick wall. He was going to collapse, he needed to steady himself. 

He wanted her to be in his arms, it was becoming more obvious to him. He wanted to be the one to take her home. To lay in her bed, to feel the warmth of her skin against him. To touch her. To kiss her. Feel her in ways he knew would make her fall in love with him. To have her earning for him as much as he longed for her. 

But that wasn't going to happen, she was going to fall asleep in the arms of another.

Draco was coming to terms with how he felt. It was a love he’d never experienced, a love that wasn’t reciprocated. A love that was unfathomable and heart destroying. He was realising, it was becoming obvious.

He was in love with Hermione Granger. 

And he was jealous of the night, knowing he wasn't spending the rest of it with her. 

~*~

He noticed for the fourth time when he saw the love they had for each other.

It was hard for him. To see that. Especially now that he knew for sure.

It was getting closer to their wedding.

He’d been falling the entire time. So fast he had caught on fire. Was burning up with his undying passion and desire for her. Flames flying out, raging like Feindfyre. He wanted to be sick. He felt weak and stupid, all because he loved her. 

He’d just seen _them_ out at lunch while he was doing the same. They were up close and she was happy. He’d just seen them kiss goodbye as Weasel dropped her off at the ministry when he was arriving back at the same time. He saw the blush on her cheeks that he gave her when he walked away and as Draco walked towards them.

He wanted to run in the opposite direction.

Because, as much as he hated to admit it, Draco wished it was him who was doing this to her. He really did, and it killed him, knowing it wasn’t. He wanted to take her on breakfast dates, lunch dates and dinner dates. He wanted to kiss her hello and goodbye every minute of every day, first thing in the morning to last thing at night. He wanted to make her blush when he told her how beautiful she always looked and how she’d never fail in taking his breath away because that was the honest truth.

He had almost forgotten what oxygen was when she was near. He didn't care, he’d happily stop breathing if it meant she was by his side the entire time. She was a different kind of air.

Draco was drowning in a lake of love he would never be able to give her.

He was sinking to the bottom and it was filling him up, taking away his life in the process. Void and useless, that's how he felt without her.

But she was in love with her childhood crush. She was devoted to him, always has been and always will be. Not Draco, not ever. He needed to get used to that, accept that, move on. 

He would, eventually. He hoped.

They were going to get married in a few months, they wanted a summer wedding. Draco knew this because he had to listen to her. When she rambled on about her wedding plans. What colour scheme she had picked out, the cake, her dress, even down to how she was doing her hair. She didn't care that he wasn't interested, she told him anyway. They were coworkers, after all, and that’s apparently what coworkers do.

It’s what friends do. 

She said they were friends.

He threw up the first time she said that.

She told him that they were going to get married in a traditional muggle church. Then have the reception at the god awful Burrow that would be in no way the event she deserves.

Because she deserved better than that, far better. She should be given the world. To have everything she wants and Draco could give her that. He’d bend over backwards doing whatever she wanted, at her beck and call. Oh, he hated it. 

He remembered when he thought people were ridiculous and unprofessional when they did whatever she wanted. She never asked of course but when she made a suggestion, they did it straight away as if her word was final. Now Draco understood, she had a power. He was under it. He would do anything and be everything for her. He knows he sounds pathetic but he’s admitting it, finally.

He loves her, he wants her.

Why can't he have her?

He continued walking towards his office, making them invisible in his mind as they said their goodbyes. He had work to do, he had a report to file, he didn't have time for them giving people an all too public display of affection. There were more important things to focus on. 

Especially when he was trying so hard to keep the pieces of glass within him together and strong. He was trying so hard, it was exhausting. As if he wasn’t already tired from it all. 

“Malfoy!”

_Fuck._

“Wait!” She shouted across the sea of wizards and witches moving in waves around them. and it was almost as if the sea parted to make a direct path for her to get to him. She ran to him and smiled and he huffed. “Did you have a nice lunch?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, brilliant. Well, I was wondering if we could talk about that report from Kingsley, he said that—”

“I’ve already done it.” He kept walking, striding. And he could see her trying to keep up with his quickened pace. 

“Have you?” She furrowed her brows and looked up at him, he saw from the corner of his eyes. She was struggling to stay next to him while he was desperate to get away from her. “That's amazing.”

“Don't sound too surprised, Granger.” They stepped into the elevator together and she stood close to him. More co-workers joined them and they stood closer, her chest to his, her head under his chin. The scent of her hair drifting up into his nose and the warmth of her against him. 

“I— I wasn’t surprised. You just did it quickly, that’s good,” she mumbled almost incoherently from below him. He sighed at her patronising tone. She didn’t think he was capable of doing something that quick. He wasn't good enough for her.

Then someone pushed her into him again and they knocked against each other. Cramped and compact. 

And he was taken back to the first time he really noticed her. It flashed in his mind like a distant memory or something he had tried to forget. 

When they stood like this in that small doorway while the rain poured down and trapped them on that little step. When he saw the water droplet fall down her face and leave a path of light as the sun hit her, starting the journey of him realising just how golden she really was. 

The scent of her hair made him remember the time in the cafe when he first started to listen to her songs. Her laughs and talkative ways which drifted through the wind with her intoxicating smell. 

To when he felt his heart shatter as she agreed to marry the Weasel. And he wished her all the best in a life where she was sharing her love with someone else.

“Are you okay, Malfoy?” She peered up at him. Eyes gleaming and sparkling like sunshine in the dim elevator.

He swallowed, then blinked and he fought the urge to kiss her right there, surrounded by people. People who he’d almost forgotten were there. Who he wished weren’t there, so he could enjoy this moment. Imagine it was just the two of them, that she was this close to him on purpose. With her arms wrapped around his waist and her chin resting on his chest. 

She’d be able to feel how his heart beat. Only for her. He’d let her keep it as she tore it from him. He wouldn't have even minded if she tossed it to the side in a carefree way, because it meant that for one minuscule amount of time, she acknowledged it was there. It would’ve been in her hand, where it belonged. 

But that wasn't real. He was living in a fantasy.

He held himself back from going to hold her face within the palms of his hands and pour his words of admiration into her mouth as he showed her just how much he loved her. Letting her swallow each letter of love.

He stopped himself from spilling the truth out that she shouldn't be with Weasley. That she should be with him, that she should love him even though he’d never deserve her love. He would never be good enough for her, he knew that, but he wanted her to love him back all the same.

“Malfoy?” She asked again, he realised he hadn’t answered and he was staring down at her.

“Yeah. Fine, Granger. I’ll send you the report when I get to my office.” He looked up and away from her. Had to. His heart was rattling in its cage, it was going to crumble from hitting the bars too harshly. The glue wasn't strong enough, his will power had to be stronger.

“Oh, okay. Great.” Timidly, quietly. 

And that's when he shut off.

He tapped his foot on the floor as the lift moved and carried them to their level. Ignoring her warmth.

The gate opened and he walked so quickly out of there that he almost tripped up on his own feet. Ignoring her voice and smell.

He ran into his office and slammed the door shut behind him.

He locked it and silenced it with one swish of his wand before throwing all his belongings on the floor in a frantic state. He pulled out a bottle of Firewhiskey from his drawer and opened it up in a flash to let the burning liquor fall down his throat and devour him.

A need to drown in the spirits while his own spirit faded into nothingness.

He emptied the bottle. He threw it on the floor. 

He punched a hole in the wall. His knuckles started to bleed.

He did it again. His blood poured onto the carpet. 

He screamed— he yelled. His throat was sore and he lost his voice.

He spent the next two hours crouched on the floor, leaning his back against the door and hugging his knees to his chest. Holding his head in his hands. Tugging his hair.

Calling himself weak. Pathetic. A fucking idiot.

All he wanted to do was publicly love her. Call her his, the way Weasley did. 

But he also didn't want to love her anymore. He didn’t want to care for her. He didn’t want to think about her. He wanted the pain to stop and to go back to before the storm that started it all. Before the storm started to take over his life. 

Because never once in his life had he been jealous of Ron Weasley.

But he had come to find himself jealous of the love they had.

~*~

The last time he noticed was when he saw her, at the altar. 

She was a vision in white.

Beautiful, stunning, glowing. 

Hand in hand with the love of her life. Sharing their vows, exchanging words of love and thought. Celebrating their union with their friends and family. And all he could do was watch from the pews of the traditional muggle church.

Because he was her friend. That’s all he was to her.

He watched the way she smiled at her husband. Watched the way she stared into the eyes of the other instead of his own. When they added a gold band to her finger next to the diamond as it slid up her finger. When they kissed and sealed their marriage before Draco was crushed with joyful shouts and cheers around him.

What pained him more was that he had to stand. He had to clap. He had to smile. Because there was no way people were going to see that on the inside he was collapsing with the ache in his chest that was almost killing him. He pretended, played along, faked his way through. 

Over the past few months, he tried to move on. He transferred departments in the ministry so he didn't have to work with her anymore. It helped, to some extent. He let his mother set him up on dates and they distracted him for some time. He spent more time with his friends and they cheered him up considerably without knowing what he was going through.

He had realised —after some persuading from himself— that he was purely living in an indefinite idealisation, that was far from the reality he was truly in and it was filled with unhealthy hope. Lingering inside him, in the back of his mind, there was a hope she’d one day maybe love him back, but over time, the last few months, he came to his senses. It was fake. 

With his lips pressed together and only the corners curling upwards in an almost unnoticeable way, he wore a smile as his hands clasped together. He looked at her in all her breathtaking glory as she walked back down the aisle now a married woman. As her arm linked with Weasel, as she smiled at the guests and held onto her bouquet. 

Her curls were tamed and thrown up into a bun. But he much preferred when they were down and loose, they mirrored her personality that way. Her long white dress trailed along the floor and behind her, looking elegant and stunning in a way that made him wonder if his mother would approve. 

He noticed every little detail about her as she walked. As she glided down, as she slipped through his fingers. 

At that moment, despite all the progress he’d made in moving on, he did feel like he was dying again. The sting in his eyes with the smile on his lips. Agony unlike any other. The pieces of glass that were falling from him into a pile of sand by his feet that he felt he was sinking into. 

But he wished them all the best, without the underlying need for heartbreak and misery he once hoped she’d have. He wanted her to be happy, he really did, even if it was without him. And to her, this was the way. So he wanted her to have all the world could give.

And all this time, all he was doing was noticing more things about her that were making him fall more and more in love with her. 

He also noticed the way his life was empty without her. Noticed the way he’s always been in love with her without realising and how he’ll never stop being in love with Hermione Granger.

He wished he noticed sooner, quicker, instead of stupid times as she fell more and more in love with someone else. And if he had, he might have told her back when he first saw that droplet of rain on her skin and took advantage of that opportunity. When he wasn't as broken, and when he was somewhat younger with naivety.

That maybe in another life she would’ve been with him instead. Where he told her.

He was jealous of his younger self, for still having that option to tell her the moment he realised he was jealous of the rain on her skin.

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> If this made you cry, I'm sorry.


End file.
